Life Isn't Easy When Bruce Wayne's Your Ward
by ksaan
Summary: Alfred's been through a lot these past years, but has anyone ever wondered what it was like to be him as all these radical events happened? Wonder no more! Some crucial moments and events from our favorite British butler's eyes! Feels and family fluff will ensue!
1. Chapter 1

Thanks for stumbling across and taking the time to read! On a recent rewatch of _Batman Begins_, I got the urge to write some parts of the story from Alfred's POV. So here's the first one. I hope you all enjoy and leave some comments telling me what you liked/didn't like. I put a lot of feels into this chapter so yeah. :)

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When he got the call, he'd been sitting in front of a roaring fire, reading. He _had_ been expecting a phone call, presumably from Master Wayne asking to be picked up from the opera, but the one he got was too early for that. When he answered in his usual cheery fashion, "Hello Alfred Pennyworth speaking," he didn't know what was about to hit him. The voice on the other end introduced himself as Sergeant James Gordon from GPD. There was an accident, he said. A mugging gone wrong. He sounded weary and sad. Someone needs to come get Bruce, he said. Is there anyone?

"Only me. I'll be there soon." The realization that there _wasn't _anyone else to go get Bruce struck him so hard he felt like he'd be punched in the chest. He loaded himself into the car, going through the motions but not really thinking about it. All he could think about was Thomas, _dead, _Martha, _dead, _and now poor, young Bruce left to deal with it all.

"Well I won't have any of it." He found himself whispering to the night. He was going to try his best to shield and help Bruce through this. The boy had been through enough already. Alfred pulled up to the Gotham City Police Headquarters, which was already swarming with press. He scowled.

Alfred parked the car in a tow zone, not really giving a damn about it at that moment. The press hollered at him, probably recognizing him as the Wayne Family butler. A young police officer met him at the door, carefully guiding him through the throngs of officers and media that were congregating inside the building.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone, Sir. He seems to be in shock." Alfred could tell the officer was new to the business.

"Well of course he's in bloody shock." He didn't mean to come off as brash as he did, but all he wanted was to collect Bruce and go home. The officer handed him off to another, presumably Sergeant Gordon.

"Mr. Pennyworth." They shook hands.

"Where's Bruce?" He could tell Gordon was worn thin.

"We have him in the back. I just felt that I'd brief you on the situation, well," Gordon paused to run a hand through prematurely graying hair. "Things are going to be tough the next few weeks. And the boy," he looked back at the door behind him, where he knew Bruce was sitting huddled in his father's jacket. "he's going to need you." Alfred nodded. He let Gordon tell him the details, how they'd found Bruce sitting between his bleed-out parents, how the police had already caught the man responsible. But to Alfred, it was already over. He didn't want to know the details. The details would do nothing for him except cause more unwanted pain.

"May I collect Bruce now, Sergeant?"

"Yes, this way." Gordon nodded sadly and led Alfred through the door. What he saw was truly a sight that broke a piece inside of him. The image of Bruce, looking much younger than he was, wrapped in his father's coat and clinging on for life, the bustle of the officers passing him, the pity looks they threw upon him, it all made Alfred want to wrap Bruce in his own coat and take him away. Away from it all.

"Bruce." It wasn't a question. Alfred knelt down in front of him, one hand on his knee. "Are you ready to go home?" The boy nodded quickly, jumping up at Alfred's touch.

"Goodnight sir." Alfred nodded at Gordon, taking Bruce close to him as they walked back out through the police department.

"But Alfred," Bruce started. They were in the car at this time, having managed to evade the press.

"Yes Master Bruce?"

_"It wasn't a good night." _The quiet sobs from Bruce in the back seat drove Alfred to pull over, climb in the back alongside his ward, which in the back of his mind he thought, _son, _because that's what he was going to become, and fold him into his coat.

"I know Master Bruce. I know."


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! First off a big thanks to all the favoriters/followers! I didn't expect this story to get much attention! Hugs to all!  
Second, I wrote this chapter prior to seeing TDKR (which I saw at midnight, it was AMAZING. see it if you haven't already)) So I'm leaving this as it was previous to seeing the movie, so no spoilers will occur to any that haven't seen it! I didn't really think about how I would continue this fic after the release of the movie, so I'll just play it out by ear. _Also, my thoughts are with all those suffering from the Aurora shooting. It's such a horrific and sad event._

**So hope you all enjoy this next installment! :D  
Leave suggestions for any scene you wish me to write in Alfred's pov. Maybe it'll happen! (I'd like to stay away from TDKR scenes just for now, so that I won't spoil it for people)**

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The phone call came in while he was out on the greens, having a go at a game of golf. It had become a sort of solace for him, just walking out on the perfectly mown grass and putting around for the hell of it. It's not like he had much to do anymore. He had closed off all the parts of Wayne Manor that weren't being used, which was everything except the kitchen and his quarters. It was just too painful to walk and relive the memories trapped inside. In some odd occurrence, he had managed to outlive every member of the Wayne family. It all struck him as so _wrong. _

Once Bruce had been declared legally dead, and it pained him to think the word- _dead _- he found himself in a position that he'd never dreamed he'd be in. One that he resented. It was completely backwards. How come the bloody _butler _for christ's sake end up with all attributes the Wayne family will contained. It wasn't supposed to work this way. Somehow he'd ended up the one receiving letters and calls of sympathy. He didn't want them. He just wanted to grieve for the family he'd cared for, the one he'd raised, the one he'd sworn to protect, the one he felt like he failed.

At first, when Bruce had disappeared, he wasn't all too worried. _He'll come home,_

_he will. _But then weeks turned into months and eventually months turned into years. Even when the first year mark had passed and the board at Wayne Enterprises had him declared legally dead, Alfred still had hope that he'd find his way home, one way or another. He'd even kept the master bedroom up for awhile, fresh sheets, airing it out, sweeping the dust bunnies from behind the door and under the bed. Eventually though, he resigned himself to the fact that _if_ Bruce ever showed up, he could make his own bloody bed.

The Rolls Royce was his first and only purchase with the money he was able to claim from the will. The prestige was never the draw, but more so the simple luxury of it. He felt pampered just by sitting in it, odd, for him. He hadn't taken the Rolls out to the course that day, not wanting to dirty the interior after he'd had his game. He was a slow golfer, a concentrator. He usually played alone, choosing to best his own personal records rather than someone else's. That day though, his scores were falling high above par. Something felt off, maybe the weather, he told himself. He went home early that day.

A blinking red light was usually something that Alfred chose to ignore. It generally meant that he had another message from the Board or from a newspaper or police officer. Somehow, those kept getting mistakenly deleted. Today though, he clicked the play button, figuring why not? It's not like it'll be anything new.

He felt like he was having a heart attack. A part of him couldn't believe it, while most of him was barely surprised at the voice on the recording. Did he really believe that Bruce had died? No. No he didn't. Did he ever think he'd be flying to Southeast Asia to pick him up? _Never._ Bruce hadn't said much. Just that he needed to 'return to Gotham.' Oh plus the fact that he was in Asia and needed Alfred to come get him. He didn't have a return number to call, so Alfred just set about making plane arrangements. He was in the air in less than an hour.

As the plane journeyed on through the skies, something was reforming itself inside Alfred. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was though. Hope, maybe. He didn't know what to expect when he saw Bruce. Would he be emaciated, fit, withdrawn? He spent the long trip in angst, worrying away the hours. The one flight attendant on board refilled his brandy twice, but otherwise left him alone. He was thankful for that, at least.

The time seemed to drag by, but at the same time it really did _fly._ Before he knew it, they were preparing for landing on a small, nearly desolate runway strip surrounded by snow-topped mountains. _What has he been doing all these years?_ Alfred stood and stretched, his old joints popping and releasing all the tension he'd been carrying the past seven years.

"Would you like us to lower the stairs now Sir?" He absently shook his head, staring out the small window.

"Not yet." He didn't see Bruce yet. The waiting lasted only about five minutes, but to Alfred it seemed longer than the seven years. Finally, a figure appeared, walking across the tarmac.

"Lower them now, if you will." The attendant nodded and smiled, leaving to work the buttons. Alfred smoothed down his suit coat as he waited for the door to open. The person he saw coming slowly, but strongly, towards him was reserved, looking like he carried the weight of one hundred years upon his shoulders. Nonetheless he could barely compose himself, knowing that Bruce was indeed alive. _Alive__._

"Master Wayne, you've been gone a long time." He loved being able to say 'Master Wayne.'

"Yes I have." He didn't detect a hint of regret in Bruce's tone. _Same old headstrong Bruce._

"You're looking very fashionable…apart from the mud." His words brought out a rueful grin, one that made Bruce look very young again. It was like he was getting reprimanded for playing in the back garden instead of the mountains in Asia. Bruce climbed the stairs and Alfred let him pass. A fresh set of clothes were set out for him to take, and he did so gratefully.

"Always prepared, Alfred." He smiled and left to change. The attendant started lifting up the stairs again and asked if he'd be needing anything. He asked for two glasses of water and that was that.

Alfred was a sentimental person, it showed in what he did and the very fiber of his being. So it didn't surprise him, or Bruce for that matter, when he enveloped Bruce in a hug, much like he did when he was just a young boy, feeling guilty for his parent's death.

"It's nice to have you back Master Wayne." Bruce smiled when he was released from the hug and patted Alfred's shoulder.

"So far it's nice to be back. I have some things I want to tell you about." He gestured to the two seats near the windows. They both sat. An uneasy feeling was starting to brew in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you coming back to Gotham for long sir?" He hoped he didn't sound too earnest.

"As long as it takes." Alfred didn't know how long 'it would take,' but for now, that was good enough for him.


End file.
